


I Don't Need a Saviour

by EmmaTovic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Healing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Recovery, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13297323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaTovic/pseuds/EmmaTovic
Summary: They have both been damaged from the war, pretty much everyone has. But when Harry discovers Malfoy after he has attempted suicide in the prefect's bathroom and saves his life, the event draws the two of them closer together in a way that neither of them could have expected.*WARNING* Graphic descriptions of depression, self harm, and an attempted suicide scene. Please do not read if you're easily triggered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my little fic which I doubt will be little. I anticipate this will be a bit of a slow burn, but it's hard to say at this point because I've only written a few chapters, but I am curious to see the response and if I should even bother to continue it.
> 
> As mentioned in the summary, there is, what I think to be, a graphic attempted suicide scene in this first chapter, and the story does centre around mental health and the struggles of recovery. Having a history of such things myself, I feel a little part of my soul has been written into this fic (it's my horcrux), so it is somewhat therapeutic for me.
> 
> Anyway, you have been forwarned. I urge you not to read if you think you may be triggered, but I just wanted to share with those who may possibly be interested in my story. It may be none of you, it doesn't really matter (I lie, I'm actually quite anxious to hear if anyone has an opinion)
> 
> If you read, I hope you enjoy :)

As Harry strode through the halls in the pitch-dark, he couldn’t help but think to himself how during those many months of uncertainty, seemingly endless and fruitless searches of horcruxes and how to destroy them, how to finally end the second reign of terror that Voldemort posed on the Wizarding World, that he would seem to find himself back in the halls of Hogwarts, sneaking around the castle long after darkness came upon the horizon. With his cloak over himself, wand in his hand, and map tucked under his arm he could almost, for a moment, forget the horrors of the war, the deaths, so many deaths, of loved ones, acquaintances, strangers, enemies, and people just caught in the crossfire. He could almost picture himself again, wandering the castle, careless, weightless, with just a singular goal;  
Get to the prefect’s bathroom.

He never thought he would ever be able to return to Hogwarts, fear that the images of the endless bodies in the great hall had tarnished even his fondest memories of the place. But Hermione convinced him; “It will be good for you, Harry.” She insisted, her large brown eyes searching his, “I know it will be difficult, but what are you going to do with yourself now? Go into Auror training? You want to fight more battles mere months after all of this has ended? If nothing else, it will provide you with an extra year to just…be you. No external pressures, no expectations, just to be a student getting through their final year of Hogwarts.”

The idea was not at all appealing, and he wasn’t going to go ahead with it. But when he arrived at Grimmauld Place, the darkness of the walls, the covered portraits, the dining room used for Order meetings, Sirius’ bedroom…it was a bit too much on his own, but he had nowhere else to go; and suddenly the idea of going back home to Hogwarts, however much it has changed, seemed quite alluring indeed.

Not many students had returned to complete their ‘8th year’, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Hermione of course. Ron was perhaps more reluctant than Harry was, but Hermione managed to convince him too, along with a splattering of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and a few Slytherins. Harry had no idea who he was to expect from his old classmates, but he couldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting in the great hall for the first dinner of the new school year. If it was possible, he looked worse than he did in their 6th year, when he had been ordered to assassinate Dumbledore. Surprisingly, the thought of Malfoy’s contributions to Voldemort and the Death Eaters didn’t fill Harry with anger anymore, but rather a solemnness that filled him and weighed him down. He found he didn’t care for Malfoy either way, they each had saved one another’s lives, and Harry would be purposefully ignorant to say that without the betrayal of Malfoy and his mother to Voldemort, the war wouldn’t have ended the way it did. He had no plans to go out of his way to befriend Malfoy, but he had no burning resentment for his peer either.

Which brings us to a few months after the beginning of term. Harry found, surprisingly, that the school routine helped enormously with everyday coping. Knowing that he had to be somewhere, that there was a reason, however mundane, to be getting out of bed in the morning, helped tamed the PTSD. McGonagall, of course, employed a school counsellor who was at the school 24 hours a day, Monday to Friday, with each of the newly returned 8th years and the students who stayed for the battle having one compulsory hour with her a week. Harry was reluctant to do so, but having Madam Vermeer there to listen to what he had to say, and her sleeping droughts to help him through the worst nights, helped enormously, and he knows he wouldn’t have seeked out that support elsewhere had he not returned.

Old habits died hard, of course, and on the nights that weren’t bad enough to warrant a draught, but with his mind too overloaded to find sleep, he found solace in the Prefects bathroom, the password for which he had gotten from Ginny at the beginning of the year. He hadn’t yet managed to bump into someone, considering he went there often far after midnight, which provided both the privacy and relaxation he needed to help him fall asleep when he returned to the dormitories.  
When he entered, however, he quickly realized it was already occupied. Hastening to wrap the cloak around himself again, he paused, because amongst the wonderful aromas of the giant, pool-like bath, another smell overpowered the others, one that Harry was all too familiar with. The unmistakable coppery smell of fresh blood. He placed his items on the floor along the wall, and walked towards the bath. The taps were still pouring water, and the sound along with the sharp smell were making Harry’s head spin. As he approached the water’s edge, he saw the bubbles tainted with redness, and saw on the other end, the cause for it.

The glint of silvery blond hair was impossible to misidentify, even with only the moonlight streaming through the windows. Without thinking, Harry dived into the water, his senses numbed as he powered through the water to reach Malfoy, head and chest floating eerily at the surface, the rest of his body concealed underneath the increasingly darkening waters.

Harry could taste the blood in his mouth as the water splashed as he swam, and after what felt like an endless swim, he reached Malfoy, unconscious in the water.

Harry pulled him out, and quickly discovered the source of the blood, though he had already deduced it anyway.

“Accio wand!” Harry yelled, extending his right hand to catch his wand, whilst his left held on to Malfoy’s wrist in an attempt to stop the flow of blood. The smell was overpowering, and Harry felt like it was leaking into his brain, his thoughts, bleeding through his ability to think. “Accio towel!” He called, flourishing his wand. A pristine white town was summoned to his side and, with what Harry would later realise was a somewhat surprising strength, he tore the towel into strips in a feeble bandaging attempt around Malfoy’s wrists. Harry pressed onto Malfoy’s arms again, afraid to lessen the pressure, and watched as his hands left a bloody handprint on the white towel.

“Malfoy? Malfoy! Can you hear me?” Harry begged, trying to shake the boy awake. He didn’t make any response indicating he heard Harry. “Malfoy!” Harry yelled, shaking him harder, Malfoy’s head, rolling to and from on the cold marble floor, his eyes never opening.

Harry had no idea how long Malfoy had been there in the water, or if he was even still alive. He stared at the makeshift bandages and at the back of his mind noticed that his eyes were burning with the strain of not blinking for so long and the tears that formed, either trying to hydrate his eyes, or as a reaction to accidentally stumbling upon the suicide attempt. Probably both.

The amount of time that passed, Harry had no idea. It felt like it had dragged on forever, whilst simultaneously feeling like everything was moving faster than he was able to focus. Harry wrapped another layer of his towel bandage around Malfoy’s wrists, tucking them in as best he could, and lifting him up in a bridal style hold.

Staggering and slipping under the combined weight of Malfoy, and the slippery surface their combined wet clothes dripping on the floor created, Harry somehow made it to the Hospital Wing, continuously glancing down at Malfoy’s deathly pale face with increasing panic.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry yelled as soon as he managed to push past the doors. Harry wasn’t sure if there were any students currently sleeping on the beds, and if there were he had paid them no attention. His legs were burning, but he kept walking forwards, swaying a bit with the weight of carrying an extra body up multiple flights of stairs. Harry’s heart was pounding in his ears, and in a panicked yell, he called out louder, “Madam Pomfrey!”

The woman burst through the back door, the look on her face seeming like she was about to give a verbal lashing to whoever was creating such a racket in her infirmary at such a time in the night, but when her eyes laid on Harry’s drenched form, clutching a pale and lifeless Malfoy, towels with blood seeping through from his cuts on his wrists, she moved straight into action.

“Here, Harry on the bed, quickly!” She ordered. Harry rushed as quickly as he could to place Malfoy on the bed, not very gently, and watched in horror as Madam Pomfrey worked to unwrap the towel strips Harry had put on Malfoy’s wrists, with each layer that was unwrapped, the blood stain growing larger. Madam Pomfrey summoned her medical cart to her side, and once the now red towels were all unwrapped, Harry felt a wave of nausea crash into him as he saw the slices Malfoy had carved into his wrists, not just the ones from that night, but a splattering of cuts over his arms, varying in stages of healing. His forearm which bore the dark mark, worst of them all.

With all the commotion Harry had caused, Madam Vermeer had come in, and upon seeing the scene, Rushed to Madam Pomfrey’s side.

“Poppy…” She gasped as she watched the woman quickly inspect the cuts.

“Gloria, there are some blood bags in the fridge, get them.” She simply commanded. Harry watched as Madam Vermeer dashed off the get the bags, and when she returned with two, Madam Pomfrey casted a mild warming charm and instructed Madam Vermeer to begin an IV.  
Madam Pomfrey frowned further when she tried to heal Malfoy’s injuries with her wand, and nothing happened, forcing her to stitch him up manually. Once the IV was in, Madam Pomfrey instructed Madam Vermeer to get Professor McGonagall immediately, and she was gone in an instant.

“What happened, Potter?” She asked in a clinical tone. Harry was unable to respond, eyes fixed on Malfoy’s pale lifeless face.

“Is he...” Harry uttered almost silently, but Madam Pomfrey shook her head.

“He isn’t dead, very close to I’d say. He needs to get to St Mungos though, where they can heal him properly.

“I just went in to the prefect’s bathroom, and he was there, just floating in the water.” Harry said, staring at Malfoy while Madam Pomfrey worked. The room was silent for a time, until McGonagall burst through the doors, practically sprinting, still in her entire night-dress gear, including her sleeping cap.

“What happened?” She demanded.

“It appears Mr. Malfoy attempted suicide.” Madam Pomfrey replied. McGonagall turned to look at Harry.

“And you were there when it happened?” She asked. Harry shook his head.

“I found him in the prefect’s bathroom.”

“I’m contacting St Mungos immediately.” McGonagall decided. “Potter, come with me.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but after a stern “Now.” From McGonagall, Harry followed her out of the hospital wing with a backwards glance at Malfoy, still unconscious on the bed.  
At her office, McGonagall contacted St Mungos, with Healers arriving by Floo within the next minute. In what felt like an endless blur, they left McGonagall’s office, then returned shortly with Malfoy on a hospital stretcher and they left again by Floo. The whole time Harry stood in McGonagall’s office, inspecting the now drying blood on his hands and a shiver went through his body and he realized he was still soaking wet. When all the commotion died down, McGonagall looked over to Harry, cast a drying and warming spell, and motioned for him to sit down, and requested for Harry to tell the events in full.

It felt like hours had gone by, and he could see the sunlight slowly breaking over the horizon signalling the beginning of a new school day. McGonagall had dismissed him from classes for the day, instructing him to make his way to see Madam Vermeer at some point.

All Harry wanted was to collapse into his bed, let sleep overcome him. He arrived into the dormitories and found his wand, cloak, and the Marauders Map on his bed, and realized by now the house elves have probably cleaned up the bathroom so there isn’t a trace of evidence left. Harry picked up the Map and searched for Malfoy’s name in vain, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to find it.

Closing the curtains of his four-poster bed, and downing the entire sleeping draught potion, Harry fell into an empty, dreamless sleep, exhausted to his very core in a way he hasn’t been in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry struggles to understand what has happened and how to process his feelings and guilt. When Malfoy finally returns to school, his behaviour towards Harry surprises him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow thank you to all the people who left Kudos and the two people who commented on my first chapter! I wasn't really sure of the kind of reception I'd recieve, but it seems that I've set up some expectations that I only hope to fulfil for you guys! I hope to post at least once a week, but if I am having a quiet weekend i may even post twice! I like to leave at least a day after I write a chapter so I can proof read it though. But I'll try to keep it coming for you guys, don't want to leave you hanging.
> 
> In this story, Harry tries his best. But, while he knows and is familiar with feelings of depression and PTSD from the war, he can't relate 100% to Draco's struggles and why he did/does the things he does to cope. This story is going to be as much of a struggle/recovery fic as it is going to be one about Harry's journey and discovery of how to help, along with him coping with the emotional toll this has on him; because, realistically, when someone close to you is struggling in this way, it does have an effect on you and it can be very draining. Ok enough of my crapping on. Enjoy the chapter!

“Bloody Hell.” Ron breathed out absently, staring into the dimly lit fire in the common room once Harry finished recounting the events of the night before. He sat on the couch with Hermione’s back against his front, idly stroking her hair and she gazed thoughtfully in the distance, as she absentmindedly rubbed her own wrists.

“Yeah.” Harry let out quietly. He looked around the empty common room, it was nearing 11pm, and this had been the first time today they had been completely alone for Harry to discuss what had happened, but it wasn’t as much of a relief as he had thought it would be. There was still a disturbing feeling deep in his chest, and oddly enough, worry for Malfoy’s safety.

The day had been unsettling to say the least. Without classes to occupy his time, Harry found himself dwelling on the night before, the images replaying in his head in third person, Malfoy’s ghostly face frequently flickering in his mind. Madam Vermeer sat with Harry for about an hour and a half talking through the events, she listened as Harry spoke in a detached way what had happened, telling him that it must have been awful for him to have witnessed what he had. He could tell she wanted to talk about how he was feeling, but truth be told, Harry wasn’t even sure himself how to label what was going on inside him, and he told her as much. By the end, Harry felt no more settled than before, and he dawdled back to his room to be with his thoughts 

Over 24 hours had passed since the incident, and he had heard no word of Malfoy’s condition. The anxiety growing, he ended up finding himself outside McGonagall’s office in the morning, before classes began. He had no idea what the password to get into the headmistress’s office was, and he stood in front of it dumbly for a while when suddenly the gargoyle statute turned, and McGonagall was before him.

“Potter!” She said in a tone of surprise. “How serendipitous, I was just coming to find you.” She turned back to face the stone statue and motioned Harry to follow her up the staircase.

Arriving back in McGonagall’s office, she sat down in the large chair, while Harry took the seat he had so often taken during his meetings with Dumbledore.

“How are you holding up?” McGonagall asked softly, her face softening but her eyes penetrating.

“I…” Harry trailed off. He didn’t really know how to answer her. “I don’t even know myself, Professor.” He ended up saying. “Every time I close my eyes I see him, lying there.” Harry rubbed his temple. He looked up to see a small crease in her brows as she regarded him thoughtfully. “Is…is he…” Harry couldn’t even finish his sentence, but thankfully he didn’t have to.

“Mr. Malfoy’s stable, currently sedated. He was in quite the rage when he came to and found himself in the hospital.” McGonagall’s frown deepened. “The healers tell me that had you not been there when you were, he would have died.” Harry couldn’t suppress the shiver that went through his spine, but thankfully McGonagall didn’t mention it. “Did you know, Harry?” Harry looked up with questioning eyes.

“Know what?”

“That Mr. Malfoy was there. What he was planning to do.” Harry’s stomach lurched.

“No, Professor, I had no clue. I haven’t even spoken to Malfoy since we’ve returned. I was… It was a complete accident that I found him.” Harry said, looking to the side once he finished talking.

They sat in silence for some time, Harry lost in thought, while McGonagall regarded him carefully. Seeming somewhat satisfied with what he said, she asked, “Is there anything you need, Potter? I know that after everything that has happened, this is the last thing you should have had to deal with.” Harry shook his head, frowning.

“Professor,” He began, but stopped.

“Yes?’ McGonagall prodded.

“Will Malfoy be coming back?” He asked. McGonagall pursed her lip, obviously thinking of how she would answer him.

“It’s unclear at the present. Obviously, Mrs. Malfoy is distraught with what has happened, I am unsure if Mr. Malfoy had received news of his son’s condition, and I do know that St Mungos wishes to keep young Mr. Malfoy under observation for a few days. But what happens from there is anyone’s guess. However, it is likely that he will be absent for a few weeks at least.” Harry felt unsatisfied with the answer, but knew that it was all he was going to get.

“Thank you, professor.” He said, standing.

“Potter,” McGonagall said, catching Harry’s attention once more. “If there is anything troubling you, you know that you are more than welcome to come see me. Any time of the day or night.” She added. “I have done my best to create the correct support networks for the students returning after the battle, but I know things are especially difficult for you, without all of this on top of it.” Harry nodded, not having anything to say to that, and left the office.

*

 Over a month had passed, and every morning Harry’s eyes searched for the familiar blond head at the breakfast table, every evening for dinner, in each of his classes, and through the corridors. He had heard no new news of Malfoy’s recovery, though he doubted there was any need for him to be informed. While he knew that Malfoy was indeed alive, it didn’t do much to ease the growing anxiety of each day that passed, and Malfoy’s absence was still glaring in his mind.

He knew that nobody else know of what had happened, there were no whispers through the castle, rumours of Malfoy’s condition, of where he was; and it struck Harry that maybe nobody noticed that he wasn’t even here. The boy’s presence was barely detectable before, he has kept to himself, not even exchanging glances with anyone who wasn’t in his immediate circle of friends. Harry felt bad to admit to himself that before that night, he had barely paid Malfoy any kind of attention. Maybe he should have.

 _You can’t hold yourself responsible for what happened, Harry_. Vermeer’s voice echoed in his head. _There is nothing that you could have done differently to have prevented what Draco did. That is not your burden to bare_. While, logically, it made perfect sense, Harry couldn’t seem to stifle the guilt that grew with each day that passed, that there was perhaps _something_ he should have done differently to have prevented this. He didn’t know what he could have done, but he felt he should have done something.

Hermione seemed to be more understanding of that guilt that Ron. Ron’s opinion on the matter was that, while what had happened was awful, it had happened, it’s being taken care of, that it had nothing to do with Harry, and he shouldn’t involve himself any further. Hermione was more sympathetic, listening to Harry’s circular ramblings of guilt, and letting him express his incoherent feelings freely and without judgement. Harry suspected that Hermione empathised with Draco more than either him or Ron. It had been hard for her, having to abandon everything she knew, her family, to try end the war, and even though they had been reunited, there was still a guilt that seemed to follow her around. The two of them never discussed it, but he often thought about Hermione’s offhand comment when they were talking alone one time about how she understood, to a degree, why Malfoy had done what he did. That she would never do it herself, but she understood the longing to just…stop thinking about it all.

A little over a month later, Harry made his usual look down the Slytherin table and was actually surprised to see an extra head that day.

Harry stopped mid-chew, and studied Malfoy from across the hall. He looked haunted, the dark circles under his eyes persisted, a stark contrast to his pale skin. He pushed his breakfast around his plate, staring down while Pansy Parkinson was whispering urgently to him. Malfoy didn’t seem to pay her any attention, continuing to push the scrambled eggs around his plate. Parkinson seemed to sigh in a mild frustration, and glanced around the hall, her eyes met Harry’s for a split second before she averted them, whispering something else in Malfoy’s ear. Whatever it was caused Malfoy to visibly tense, and he slowly raised his head.

There was this kind of fire in Malfoy’s eyes when they locked with Harry’s, something that can only be described as complete and utter rage. Harry felt himself flinch and glance away from the powerful glare. Malfoy had never look at him with such forceful hatred before, and he couldn’t understand why it was being directed at him. After a few minutes Harry chanced a glance upwards to see if Malfoy was still glaring at him, but when he looked up he, Parkinson, and Zabini were gone.

Harry frowned to himself, having lost his appetite, he too started to push his breakfast leftovers around his plate, thinking about Malfoy. _Was he ok? Where has he been? What made him come back? Why… why… why…_ His thoughts kept circling back to that one question, and he realised he had to know. Hermione and Ron stood up beside him, and asked him if he was coming. Harry nodded, and the three of them made their way to their first lesson of the day, Transfiguration. 

Since there were only a fraction of students of Harry’s old classmates returning to Hogwarts for their 8th year, each of the classes were a combination of all four houses. By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrived at class, Malfoy was already sitting at the back, posture slouched, and neck bend over his textbook. Parkinson and Zabini sat on either side of him, and Harry tried to catch Malfoy’s eye as he walked past, but his eyes were determinedly cast downwards, as if he didn’t want to be noticed.

The trio sat further towards the front of the class, and it took every bit of willpower that Harry had not to glance backwards every 5 minutes. The professor made no comment on Malfoy’s return to class, and in fact, nobody at all seemed to have noticed that Malfoy had returned, or that he had even left. The thought brought a sharp stab of pain in his chest, that so many people couldn’t care less for one of their classmates, though, Harry realised with a sickening feeling, until that night in the bathroom, Harry had barely spared Malfoy a look for the whole year. He was no better than anyone else.

After what felt like endless hours, class was dismissed. Harry had a free period, Hermione had Ancient Runes, and Ron was making his way to the field for some quidditch training.

“You’re welcome to come along mate,” He would say every time. “I know you’re not on the team anymore, but I’m sure that everyone would love to see you and muck around a bit.” But Harry declined, again. Besides, he had a more important task to complete. So once the friends split up, Harry paced quickly in the direction he saw Malfoy take off in.

The corridor was empty when Harry turned the next corner except for Malfoy’s thin frame cloaked in his robes walking slowly. Harry suspected he was heading to the Slytherin common room, and he jogged to catch up to Malfoy’s figure as it turned another corner.

“Malfoy!” He called out, his voice echoing slightly against the walls. He saw Malfoy’s shoulders tense, but he didn’t stop. In face he seemed to walk faster, which didn’t deter Harry as he just picked up his pace and caught up to Malfoy in a matter of a few strides. “Malfoy,” He tried again, but before he could say anything else, the boy spun around and stared at Harry.

“What, Potter. What do you want? Haven’t you done enough saving for a while?” He sneered, he went to turn again to walk away when Harry grabbed his arm to stop him, but quickly letting go when he could almost completely wrap his fingers around it.

“Jesus, Malfoy, when was the last time you ate something?’ Harry gasped. Malfoy didn’t bother with a reply, but just hugged his arms around is torso and made a move to leave again. “Hey! Wait, I want to talk to you.”

“Can’t you see that I don’t want to talk to you? Now leave me alone.” Malfoy snapped, his eyes blazing into Harry’s.

“I think you owe me an explanation.” Harry said crossing his arms.

“I don’t owe you _shit_.” Malfoy growled. “Why don’t you mind your own business and leave me be.”

Harry couldn’t help but be taken aback by Malfoy’s hostility, and sensing a change to escape, Malfoy turned and briskly walked away while Harry stood dumbly in the corridor.

*

“Well what did you expect to happen, Harry?” Hermione sighed once Harry finished recounting what had happened. “He’s just come back to school after an extremely trying time. The last thing he wants, or needs, is to be bombarded with questions; questions he may not be comfortable answering.” Hermione shrugged.

“Hermione, I basically watched him dying in my arms, how can I not be invested to see how he is, to know why this happened.” Harry picked at some fluff on his robes. “Maybe I can do something to help.” He suggested quietly. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

“Like what, Harry? Not only are you not qualified to be able to help him, but the two of you have no basis of a healthy relationship, no foundation of trust, and on top of that you have your own struggles you are trying to cope with.” She signed and held his hand. “I understand where you are coming from, and I know you want to help, but I just don’t think there is anything you can do for him. At the very least, McGonagall is aware of the issue now, and I’m sure she has already placed support tactics for Malfoy for his return to school. I think you just need to let it be.”

Harry nodded, but knew that there was no way he could follow her advice. There was a deep need to be there for Malfoy, to help him through this. Harry suspected it was probably the guilt eating at him again, wondering if he had done something to contribute to this, or if it was something he _hadn’t_ done. Harry worried at his lip, and he heard Hermione sigh, already knowing that he was going to disregard everything she had said.

*

The next week was the same. Every chance Harry got, he tried to talk to Malfoy, but the boy wasn’t having any of it, storming off or even throwing insults and threats of bodily harm if Harry continued. So he decided to change his tactics a bit. After Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry had noticed that Parkinson was alone, and he approached her.

“Parkinson,” He called. The dark-haired girl turned her head swiftly and narrowed her eyes when she saw Harry standing there.

“Potter.” She acknowledged coolly. Harry looked around the bustling corridor.

“Are you free?” Parkinson said nothing. Harry scoffed. “Do you have a class now? I have to talk to you, it’s urgent.” She stood there regarding him for a moment before nodding. “Somewhere a bit more private?” Harry suggested. Parkinson raised an eyebrow at him, her face a blank mask. “It’s something of a sensitive topic, I’m not sure you’d want everybody hearing what I have to say.”

Harry knew that Parkinson knew why Harry was talking to her, so he didn’t need to elaborate. She simply gestured with her hand for him to lead the way, and so off Harry went. The weather was cold, so they made to go outside where it was more likely they’d find a place to be alone. Under a small alcove in the garden, Harry faced Parkinson. She stood there in silence for a bit before she huffed.

“Potter, I assume there is something you wanted to say if you dragged us all the way out here in the middle of November.” She said icily.

“I want to talk about Malfoy.” He said plainly. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Well I don’t.” She said.

“I deserve to know what happened.” He retorted.

“Why, pray tell, do you _deserve_ to know anything?” She said with narrowed eyes. “Because you’re his friend? Because you love and care for him like his friends and family do? You are just a nobody who stumbled into something that, lets be honest, you wouldn’t have even cared about had you not found him –” Her voice caught for a moment and Harry was surprised to see her blink away tears. She looked up and took a few seconds to recover, before continuing. “Potter, I will be forever grateful that, for whatever reason, you were there. That you found him when you did. I…” She shook her head. “I knew he was struggling but that he would do something like this?” She didn’t even seem to be talking to Harry anymore, she stared somewhere far off and Harry watched as her eyes began to water again. “You saved his life.” She said, looking at Harry again. When she blinked a few tears cascaded down her cheeks, rosy from the cold. “But that doesn’t deserve his life story.” She said with finality.

Harry nodded, biting his lip he looked down.

“I…” He began, but to voice the thoughts and the guilt which has been echoing through his brain for the last 5 weeks seemed almost selfish to do. “Despite what you may think of me Parkinson, I do care. Seeing him like that… it still haunts me. We had many conflicts in the past, but after everything that has happened, I feel the scores are somewhat settled. I hold no animosity towards Malfoy, and I don’t hold him responsible for what he was forced to do. We were all kids. We didn’t know better, the lot of us being forced into something we weren’t ready to experience.” He met Parkinson’s eyes and found a surprised look on her face, mingled with curiosity. “I want to help, I want to be there for him, but he won’t even talk to me. Which is fine, I don’t want to push. But I won’t give up. I’m not going to let him think I’m just another person who sees him in pain and is just going to ignore him, pretend like he doesn’t exist.”

Parkinson sighed and rubbed her eyes, a look of what can only be described as disgust as she saw that she had been crying.

“Look, Potter, you do what you need to, so you can fall asleep at night. But Draco is my number one priority, and I’m not going to put him in harms way for you to alleviate some misguided guilt you feel about this. Try, if you must, but he’s changed. He’s different since the war ended. He’s closed off from the world, unfeeling, and he does what he can to keep it that way.” She shrugged, and a smirk almost played across her lips. “Who knows, you always got an emotional rise out of him. Maybe you can help bring him down to earth again.” She nodded to Harry and, having decided that the conversation was over, left Harry out in the cold to retreat into the castle.

Harry thought about what she said as he strolled back inside. He made his way towards the library to work on a transfiguration essay, but his thoughts were elsewhere, replaying the conversation with Parkinson. He knew her final comment was just a tease, but Harry was going to rise to the challenge.

Harry wasn’t sure how he would do it, but he was going to let Malfoy know that he wasn’t alone; that there was someone else who understands the pain, that there was someone else who wants to help.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, here is another chapter. Progress is being made in terms of Harry and Draco's "relationship" but it's more of a friendship at this stage. 
> 
> Thank you to all who commented and left cudos for my last chapter. I love to read your thoughts, and to know you're enjoying what I'm putting out there.
> 
> Hope you all had/have a good weekend, and good luck for Monday, whether you're going back to work or school. Unless you're on school holidays like the kiddies in Australia at the moment.

It was like Malfoy was determined to avoid Harry at all costs. The boy all but ran from classes when they were over, and Harry never seemed to be able to ‘bump into’ him in the halls. Harry hadn’t been deterred from his moral mission, though. He could see Hermione thoughtfully regarding Harry’s quiet desperation to talk to Malfoy, but she never commented on it. Ron was blissfully unaware of the whole thing, and had carried on like he couldn’t really care less about Malfoy’s wellbeing.

Harry acknowledged that Ron probably didn’t care all that much.

It was unsurprising that again Harry had found himself awake late in the night, unable to relax his mind enough to allow sleep to come. He couldn’t go to the prefect’s bathroom. He hadn’t been since that dreadful night. He instead decided to take a walk through the castle. Grabbing his cloak from his trunk, he slipped it over his head and began to wander the halls.

Unsure of how long he had been walking for, Harry froze when he turned a corner and saw someone standing next to the window, staring out onto the castle grounds. Features indiscernible, for the night’s light turned the person into a graceful silhouette, but there was a soft shimmer on the top of the figure’s cropped hair that let Harry know who was there.

Slipping the cloak off his shoulders and over his arm, Harry took a breath in and spoke,

“Malfoy.” He said quietly. The other boy was visible startled, turning quickly and reaching for what Harry assumed to be his wand concealed in a pyjama pocket. When he saw Harry however, he scoffed and lowered his hand to rest at his side.

“Potter.” He muttered, turning back to look outside. Harry could see the boy was still tensed in his shoulders, but Malfoy said nothing else, just gazed out into the engulfing darkness which swept the grounds.

Harry stood awkwardly for a while, now that he finally had Malfoy alone, and not dashing away from him, he wasn’t sure of what to say.

“I know why you seem to be so desperate to talk to me. You’re curious.” Malfoy began to speak softly, still looking at the moon, blinking every so often. “But I don’t understand it.”

“Understand what?” Harry asked, walking towards where Malfoy stood, looking out the window with him.

“Your interest.” Harry frowned.

“Of course I’m interested, I’m worried about you.” Harry replied a touch defensively. He could see Malfoy raise an eyebrow in a way that screamed, “ _yeah, ok._ ” There was silence for a few minutes, before Malfoy spoke again.

“I hate you.” Malfoy whispered, his voice broken.

The words had a surprising effect on Harry, he almost felt like he was going to stagger backwards like he had been hit with a physical blow. The declaration stung far more than what Harry could have imagined. Of course, when they were childhood ‘enemies’, Harry thought the very same thing about Malfoy. But now, things seemed different, and hearing Malfoy say that he _hated_ him…it hurt. Harry didn’t know what to say, but Malfoy didn’t wait very long for a reply, as he continued speaking.

“You couldn’t just leave me be, could you, Potter? You always seem to find a way to interfere with my life.” Harry wasn’t exactly sure what Malfoy was talking about, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to understand. “All I wanted… I just wanted the silence. I wanted the blackness to finally consume me. I have been trying to fight it off for so long that for the first time in a long time, I felt truly at peace when I slipped out of consciousness, the warm bath around me, it was almost like I was falling asleep towards the end.” Harry’s back tensed unwillingly. “I just want it to be over already.” Malfoy finished, his voice barely above silence. If it weren’t for the completely abandoned corridors, Harry wouldn’t have heard anything he had said.

“But…” Harry began, clearing his throat from it’s croakiness. “But, why?” Harry could only ask. Malfoy didn’t answer for the longest time, just staring out the window. Minutes passed and finally Malfoy turned to look at Harry and Harry was surprised to see that Malfoy had been crying.

“I’m done, Potter. Finished.” He said lamely, with a weak shrug. “There is nothing left of me, nothing left for me. My father is in Azkaban, my name been smeared beyond redemption, my mother has been destroyed from the war, wracked with guilt about what I had gone through as if she could have done anything to help. If she even uttered a protest of… of _his_ decisions regarding me, she would have been killed, and me punished further.” Malfoy looked somewhere past Harry’s shoulder, as if he could barely bring himself to say any of this to his face. “I know basically everyone in this school despises me and everything my family name stands for. I have nothing. No prospect of a future career, because who wants to employ someone with the dark mark tattooed forever on their skin.” Harry’s mind flashed back to the last time he had seen Malfoy’s dark mark, littered with scars and healing cuts, and Harry’s stomach churned. “No where to find someone to be with, because who would ever look past the choices I made over the last few years.”

“Choices you were _forced_ to make, Malfoy.” Harry couldn’t help but interrupt, but Malfoy simply dismissed the thought with a heavy wave of his hand, as if held no merit.

“I’m dirt. I’m worse than dirt. I am the shit smeared on the shoe of society, people relentlessly trying to scrape me off onto the pavement because my stench lingers and follows them wherever they go. Nobody wants me here, don’t try to deny it,” Malfoy said when he saw Harry’s mouth open in protest. “If I’m alone and my back is turned I _will_ get curses thrown at me. I don’t want to be here. I’m tired of trying to fight it, I’m tired of ‘pushing through the days’ as if there could be some light at the end of the tunnel. But this isn’t a tunnel. It’s just a hole. And the hole leads to my grave.”

Harry’s chest throbbed, and before he was even able to think what he was doing, he had pulled Malfoy in for a hug.

Malfoy tensed dramatically, but within a second seemed to melt into the embrace. Harry couldn’t help but wonder what was the last time someone had just… been there. Listened to him. Held him while he cried. Which is exactly what happened.

Malfoy never reciprocated the embrace, but Harry could feel the shaky inhales as he sobbed quietly onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry patted his back, murmured that things would be ok, that he didn’t deserve this, that he never asked for any of this to happen to him, that there were people who cared, and people who forgave him for his actions. That he forgave him. At that final sentence Malfoy straightened up and Harry let go of him. Malfoy regarded Harry seriously, and Harry stared back at him. He truly looked a mess. Set aside the now swollen eyes, wet cheeks, and snot that dripped down to his lips, Malfoy’s cheeks were hollowed in, dark circles settled under his eyes, and a feeble, trembling frame.

“You forgive me?” Malfoy repeated dubiously. “After everything? All the deaths? The torture? The war?” Harry shook his head.

“I don’t need to forgive you for that, because you’re not responsible for any of it.”

“My aunt killed your Godfather.” Malfoy deadpanned. Harry couldn’t help but flinch, but carried on.

“That wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have controlled Bellatrix’s actions.”

“Voldemort had tricked you into being there. My father was the one who met you, who fought you.”

“Again, you couldn’t control any of that.”

“The Weasley twin.”

“Not you.”

“Dumbledore.”

“Your hand was forced, he knew that, and in the end, you didn’t even carry through with it. It’s why Snape delivered the curse. The two of them had it all planned out long before the event.” Malfoy seemed to huff in frustration, anger brewing inside of him, his voice getting louder.

“Me basically torturing you over the years. My asshole behaviour. Me helping take down you and your friends practicing defensive magic while Umbridge was here. I brought the death eaters into Hogwarts. I… I…” Malfoy grasped desperately. Harry couldn’t help but smirk.

“Well, you are a bit of an asshole, unfortunately there is no cure for that.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and then something happened that Harry couldn’t have guessed had he been given a thousand tries.

Malfoy started to laugh.

And not just a soft chuckle, a whole hearted, belly-aching laugh. He bent over, eyes closed, and fresh tears fell from his eyes and he laughed hysterically. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. The whole situation was unbelievable, and considering the seriousness of the conversation they had just been having, Harry was dumbfounded to how they had suddenly ended up laughing together, leaning against the castle walls for balance.

A few minutes later the two of them sobered up, and they were in a more comfortable silence. Malfoy turned to look out the window again, leaning against the window pane. Harry sighed.

“Malfoy, I may not know what you are going through, but I understand.” Harry said. Malfoy just made an unamused huff. “We went through the same war. We suffered the same. We were both thrust into a situation that we were in no way ready to deal with, and probably wouldn’t have been involved in had we been given another choice. But Malfoy,” Harry grasped Malfoy’s wrist lightly, pulling his eyes to meet Harry’s. “ _This_ , isn’t the way to cope.” He finished.

Malfoy let out a long breath, eyes on the floor, like he was ashamed.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I have no fight left in me, Potter. I’m tired, I just want to sleep. Take the strongest sleeping drought that one can brew and never wake up. I know that people will be better off without me, that nobody will even miss my being here.” Malfoy pulled his arm away from Harry, holding his wrist, rubbing his thumb over his pyjama sleeve where Harry knew the scars lay.

“But if you kill yourself, who will I have left to fight with?” Harry asked. Malfoy looked at Harry with a quizzical look, and despite Harry’s serious expression, his eyes twinkled with humour. Malfoy just let out a short breath of laughter, and nudged Harry.

“Tosser.”

“It’s true.” Harry admitted with a shrug and a smile. They both sighed.

“You should be in bed.” Malfoy said. Harry raised his eyebrows and gestured to Malfoy with a look that said, “ _you’re telling me_ I _should be in bed?_ ” Malfoy just rolled his eyes. “I’m serious,” he said. “Why are you up?”

“Can’t sleep,” Harry said simply.

“Well obviously, Potter, otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation in the middle of the night.” Harry chuckled, but didn’t respond. “Hey,” Malfoy said seriously. “If you get to know the fucked-up shit going on in my head, I deserve at least something from you.” Harry scoffed, but couldn’t help a smile that fell on his lips.

“Nightmares.” Harry said. “I get them basically every night. Sometimes I can’t even fall asleep, I guess it’s like my brain is protecting me from seeing everyone dying or dead over and over. Sometimes I take a sleeping draught, but a lot of the time I prefer to walk, try to clear my head. I often went to the prefect’s bathroom before…” Harry trailed off. “Well, you know.” He finished quietly.

Malfoy pursed his lips together, eyebrows furrowed.

“Potter. I…I’m sorry you had to see that.” Malfoy said. “To be honest I wasn’t even thinking about who would find me there. It never seemed to matter, I just wanted it to be over.” Harry shook his head.

“You never need to apologise for that, Malfoy. If I’m being perfectly honest, whilst that was one of the worse experiences of my life, I am glad I was there. If given the choice to relive that night, the only thing I’d do differently is be there earlier to stop you from even doing it in the first place. I am never going to be sorry for saving your life, though. And I will not accept your apology either, because you don’t need to apologise to me.” Malfoy smiled at Harry, a genuine, appreciative smile, until Harry continued, “perhaps apologise to the house elves though? You left a bit of a mess.”

“Fucking git.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “That was a nice moment before you ruined it. 

“It’s what I do best.” Harry said with a grin. Malfoy replied with another smile. It made Harry feel happy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week! Don't I have a life? Haha no. Actually I was just so excited about this chapter I couldn't wait until the weekend to post it! Hopefully I'll have another one up for you on the weekend too.

Not wanting to push Malfoy away, Harry kept his distance as best he could. He couldn’t seem to help himself, however, that every meal time he sat facing the Slytherin table, so his eyes could drift to the blond when they pleased. He knew that Hermione knew what he was doing, and she caught him a few times looking at Malfoy. She never commented, just pursed her lips, and looked down at her plate. A few days had gone by and he hadn’t spoken to Malfoy since that night, but they caught eyes more often than before, Harry giving him a shy smile, surprised when it was returned.

At the end of the last class before the weekend, Harry was packing up his books and quill when he heard a soft clearing of a throat beside him. He looked up, puzzled, and then with eyebrows raised when he saw it was Malfoy.

“Oh.” Harry said simply. There was an awkward silence where Malfoy seemed to be a bit uncomfortable and glanced over his shoulder. Harry followed his gaze and saw Parkinson and Zabini staring intently at the two of them, Pansy’s eyes narrowed, while Blaise’s had what could only be described as a polite shock to them. Harry looked back at Malfoy, “Hey, everything alright?” He said easily, standing up and slinging his book bag over his shoulder.

“Yes, yes.” Malfoy replied, Harry could see his shoulders were tense, obviously nervous for this conversation. Harry waited for a few more moments for Malfoy to speak, but he seemed to need some encouragement.

“Er… Did you want to say something?” Harry asked with a slight tilt to his head.

“Of course,” Malfoy replied straightening his shoulders, bringing himself to his full height. If someone just looked over now, they wouldn’t think Malfoy was nervous, but Harry could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “I was wondering, Potter, if you were available to come to the library with me this evening. To study.” He added somewhat awkwardly.

“Oh.” Harry said, a bit surprised. Truth be told he didn’t really want to go to the library. What he really wanted to do was to burry his school books under a pile of clothes and not think about them again until Sunday night to finish his homework. Malfoy seemed to sense his hesitation.

“I… I could use the company tonight.” He said, looking over Harry’s shoulder. His lips were tight and his brows slightly furrowed. Harry frowned. He wondered to himself why Parkinson and Zabini weren’t company enough, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ask that.

“Sure, uh, could you give me half an hour to get changed out of my robes and such? Just get a bit more comfortable? I’ll meet you there?” Malfoy nodded and turned away, leaving the classroom without another word.

“What?” Harry turned around and saw Ron and Hermione staring at him with wide eyes. “I… just, _what_?” Ron repeated, seeming to be lost for words. Harry shrugged.

“Dunno. Has to be important for him to ask my company though.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Harry? I mean, we have no idea what is going through his head. He is probably having a mental breakdown,” Ron said, frowning. Harry had expected Ron to be more… angry about this; but he seemed just as surprised by the invitation as Harry and Hermione.

“I agree with Ron, mostly.” Hermione said. “I wouldn’t say _mental breakdown_ , but you have no idea what might happen. What if he lashes out on you?”

“He won’t.” Harry said simply, and he surprised himself how sure he was of that. “What’s the worst that can happen, really? It’s been months, and nothing has happened yet between us, so I doubt anything will happen now. Maybe he’s trying to mend bridges?” Harry said, motioning his head for his friends to leave with him. They walked to the common room in an uncomfortable silence, and Ron told Harry that he didn’t think this was a good idea, and if he wanted him to come with him and watch over the two of them to make sure Malfoy didn’t try anything, but Harry shook his concerns off, telling him it would be fine, that after everything, Malfoy would be an idiot to try something.

So that’s how Harry found himself on Friday afternoon working on his Care of Magical Creatures homework with Malfoy. He couldn’t really concentrate on what he was writing though, his mind drifting to why he was _really_ there, working instead of relaxing in the common room. He thought he had re-read a paragraph in his textbook five times before sighing, closing his books, giving up on it all. Malfoy looked over to Harry with a blank expression, then put his quill down.

“Sorry to have dragged you out here.” He said quietly. Not that he needed to be quiet, the library was all but abandoned this afternoon, there was nobody here expect Madam Pince, and even she was nowhere to be seen, as they were at the back of the library, hiding at a table behind a few bookshelves.

“Er, it’s ok, Malfoy. Just tired is all. Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Harry asked. Malfoy hesitated, looking down at his parchment. Harry noted that he hadn’t written very much either.

“It’s just… I don’t really have anyone else to talk to right now. As stupid as that sounds.” Malfoy scoffed at himself. “See, Pansy and Blaise don’t really understand why I tried to kill myself.” Harry couldn’t lie to himself and say he wasn’t shocked at how bluntly Malfoy put it. “They are worried, and care a lot. I love them both. But they don’t get it.” Harry frowned slightly.

“Well, to be fair, I don’t really get it either,” Harry admitted, “but just because I don’t understand the longing to end my own life, doesn’t mean I don’t understand the bad feelings and thoughts that come.” Harry felt a bit odd admitting this, since he hadn’t really thought about it much himself.

“It just seems different talking to you about it. I don’t feel like I have to explain myself, explain why I’m feeling this way, because it doesn’t really feel like there is a reason.” Malfoy said quietly. He let out a deep breath and Harry didn’t really know what to say. The two of them were silent for what felt like the longest time, and as time went by, the silence grew heavier. “This was a bad idea.” Malfoy finally said, the breaking of the silence seeming louder than it was.  He got up and went to start collecting his books when Harry reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Malfoy froze, his breathing seeming to halt.

“No,” Harry said softly. He stood up, still holding Malfoy’s wrist. “I… this just isn’t really a place I feel the most comfortable in.” He admitted. Harry kept looking down at Malfoy’s wrist in his hand, not seeming to be able to pull his eyes away, and as if some unforeseen force was commanding him, he slowly began to turn his arm around until the underside of his wrist was exposed to Harry’s gaze.

Harry felt his stomach drop like when he used to do a deep dive on the broom, his heart stuttered for a moment, and his breathing hitched. He stared at the raised, thick line on Malfoy’s wrist. Harry had almost expected it to be healed by now, but it was still red, parts of the scar seeming to have bled a little under the skin.

“It itches as it heals.” Malfoy said almost silently, as if he had read Harry’s mind, when Harry’s finger traced it, barely touching the skin. “Every time I scratch, it’s like the blood pools underneath the scar and makes it look worse than it is.” Harry couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He went to push Malfoy’s sleeve up, seeing other scars on the exposed bit of skin, but Malfoy slowly, but forcefully removed his arm from Harry’s grasp. He covered the bit of skin with his other hand, holding it to his stomach, staring at the ground as if he were ashamed of himself.

Harry had never so intimately seen such struggles someone had been suffering through. Of course, Harry knew his own fair share of bad times, horrible flashbacks, crippling depression, but the thought to harm himself never seemed like something to do to cope with it, and he couldn’t imagine himself doing it to himself. None of his close friends appeared to do this either. He really didn’t know what to do.

“I wish I could help you, to take this pain from you. You don’t deserve this.” Malfoy rolled his eyes

“Potter, I don’t need you to save me from my karma.” He said. “Really, my pain is mine, and I deserve every bit of it for all the horrible things I have done in my past.” Harry didn’t express it, but he vehemently disagreed with that. He was unsure of what to do now, but the thought of sitting back down and trying to study after this seemed impossible.

“Come with me.” Harry said, quickly packing up his books. Once they were all in a nice pile and about to go into his bag, he glanced over to Malfoy and saw he hadn’t started packing away. “Malfoy?” Malfoy nodded and started to pack his belongings away, then followed Harry out of the library. Harry was almost skipping out of the castle, not even looking behind to see if Malfoy was following him, but knew that he was. He was excited, but he didn’t tell Malfoy what they were doing or where they were going. He could feel that Malfoy was nervous, but he never asked what was going on. They made their way out of the castle and towards Hagrid’s Hut. When Malfoy saw where they were headed, he crinkled his nose in distaste.

“Really, Potter?” He said with a tone of revulsion. “I understand that perhaps the library wasn’t where you would have preferred to spend your Friday afternoon, but you’re really going to punish me by bringing me here? The Oaf doesn’t even _like_ me.” Harry shook his head, they had slowed down to a walk, and Harry put his school bag on the side of the hut, motioning for Malfoy to do the same.

“We’re not here to see Hagrid.” Harry said simply. Just then, Malfoy tensed, and his eyes went wide, taking a few stumbling steps backwards from the Forbidden Forest that Hagrid’s Hut resided beside.

“Potter…” Malfoy said in a warning tone, his voice wavering as he stared over Harry’s shoulder. Harry just smiled and turned around, taking a deep bow at Buckbeak. When Buckbeak reciprocated, Harry walked over to him and gave him an affectionate pat, gently ruffling through his feathers while Buckbeak nuzzled his beak against Harry’s face gently. He never came to see Buckbeak anymore, he reminded him too much of Sirius, but he figured it was time to face his past, to create new memories, ones that didn’t hurt as much. For him and Malfoy; literally in Malfoy’s case.

“Come on, Malfoy, a nice, deep bow for Witherwings.” Harry said with a wide grin. Harry could sense both how uncomfortable Malfoy was and Buckbeak’s weariness.

“Potter I am not going anywhere _near_ that damn chicken that almost mauled me to death.” Harry rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Malfoy. The Hippogriff that you met was Buckbeak. This is a different one; his name is Witherwings.” Harry could have burst out laughing at Malfoy’s face. He knew that Malfoy didn’t believe a word he was saying, and he seemed to be struggling to not turn around and walk right back to the castle. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, while Harry soothingly stroked Buckbeak’s feathers.

“You’re insane. Absolutely insane.” Malfoy said, eyeing the hippogriff. Buckbeak let out a snort and scratched at the ground, staring at Malfoy. Malfoy’s eyes were trained at Buckbeak’s claws, shaking his head. “I’m not doing this, Potter. There aren’t enough Galleons in Gringotts to make me go anywhere near that savage animal.”

“Listen, Malfoy, think of it as… er… as a training exercise.” Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry. “No, seriously. You were a different person the last time you met Bu… uh… Witherwings.” Malfoy’s eyes narrowed further at Harry. “After everything that has happened, maybe you can take this as an opportunity to start afresh. The war changed you, your ideals have changed and so has your behaviour. And sometimes we have to face the things we once never would, so we can grow as a person. If you can show Witherwings you’ve changed, you can show everyone else too.” Malfoy took a deep breath, but didn’t seem any more likely to take even half a step towards them. “I’m right here, Malfoy. I won’t let him hurt you, and I won’t let you do something to get yourself injured… Again.” After a few seconds, Malfoy nodded his head.

“Okay.” He said quietly. “What do I do?” He asked. Harry smiled widely, and Malfoy gave him a small smile in return.

“Take a bow, nice and low. Don’t appear threatening, and keep your eyes to the ground for a few seconds before looking up to see his response. You must be respectful. He’s kind of like you in the way that he will get very pissy if he thinks someone is making fun of him, as I’m sure you remember.”

“Shut up, Potter.” Malfoy muttered, but nonetheless followed Harry’s instruction. He took half a step backwards, and bending his front knee, bowed lowly and gracefully at Buckbeak. Harry took a few side steps away from Buckbeak to give the creature some space. He wondered if Buckbeak could sense Malfoy’s nervousness, and Harry thought he could see his hands quivering at his sides, but Malfoy was too far away to be sure. About ten seconds passed and Malfoy glanced up warily and Buckbeak snorted and started kicking his front legs forward. Malfoy’s breathing picked up, “Potter…” He said shakily.

“It’s ok, _Shh,_ Buckbeak it’s ok.” Harry said quietly, trying to sooth the animal. He took a few steps to put himself slightly in between Buckbeak and Malfoy, lifting his arms up. When Buckbeak calmed down, Harry stroked his neck a bit, “It’s ok he won’t hurt you, I promise.” Harry muttered quietly. Harry wondered if Buckbeak could understand him or not, as he seemed to regard Harry carefully, then letting out a quiet snort, gave a short bow to Malfoy. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Malfoy still bowed down, the fear in his eyes mingled with shock that Buckbeak had reciprocated the bow. “Now, Malfoy, _slowly_ walk over. I’m right here, I won’t go anywhere.” Malfoy slowly straightened up and walked mindfully towards Buckbeak, his hand slightly outstretched in a proclamation of peace. Buckbeak pulled himself up to his full height and Malfoy stopped.

“I can’t do this.” He said quietly, eyes locked with Buckbeak’s.

“Yes, you can,” Harry encouraged quietly. “He’s not going to hurt you, right Witherwings?” Buckbeak let out a light snort and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“Seems the bird and I are in agreement.” Malfoy muttered, but nonetheless began walking slowly again. After what felt like a few minutes, Malfoy stood close enough to Buckbeak to touch him. His hand hovered over Buckbeak’s neck, and as if he got impatient, Buckbeak nudged his head forward to make contact with Malfoy’s outstretched palm. Malfoy let out a gasp of surprise and retracted his hand slightly, but then placed it back, hesitantly stroking Buckbeak’s neck, letting out a breathy laugh. “I can’t believe this.” Malfoy said, seemingly to himself. Buckbeak stood there patiently as Malfoy slowly gained confidence, his hand roaming the entire length of Buckbeak’s neck, and Harry wondered if Malfoy knew he was smiling. “Well,” Malfoy said, taking a step backwards, “that was an experience, but I don’t want to push my luck.” Buckbeak shook his head and neck, glancing up at the sky and stretching out his wings.

“I think he want to go for a fly, Malfoy.” Harry said amusingly.

“Oh, no. I don’t think so. This was enough ground-breaking training exercises for one day.” Malfoy said, shaking his head, taking a step backwards, but Buckbeak followed him, pushing at his chest with his beak. “No, no, sorry but there is _no_ way I am climbing up there.” Buckbeak didn’t pull back, and Harry was already preparing himself to climb on. “Potter, have you completely lost it? We’re going to fall off and die.”

“Aw, Malfoy, Witherwings wouldn’t let us fall, would you?” Harry said. Unbelievably, Buckbeak seemed to look offended by the suggestion. Harry laughed, and climbed on his back. “Come on Malfoy, don’t you trust me?” Harry said, with a hand stretched out.

“Not a single bit.” Malfoy said bitterly, reaching out and grasping Harry’s hand and pulling himself up.

“Hold on around my waist, tightly.” Harry said over his shoulder.

“Yeah, you wish Potter. I understand your motives now.” Malfoy replied, but wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist tightly anyway. Harry felt his face flush, thankful he wasn’t facing Malfoy for the other boy to see and tease him for, but didn’t respond to him.

“Come on, Witherwings, let’s show Malfoy how fast you can go.” Harry said.

“Fast? Wait Potter I- ” But the rest of Malfoy’s sentence was drowned out as Buckbeak began to run and stretch out his wings, the wind against Harry’s hair in a way that always made him feel free. “ _Oh Merlin_!” Malfoy exclaimed as Buckbeak took off from the ground, grasping Harry’s torso tighter, pressing his body against Harry’s back. “ _Potter_!” Malfoy shouted in Harry’s ear, but Harry just laughed, holding Buckbeak’s neck as they quickly soared over the forbidden forest, the endless sea of varying shades of green underneath them. They made a loop over the forest, getting nowhere near the other side of it, and Buckbeak made his way further from the castle. “Where are we going?” Malfoy yelled, but Harry didn’t reply, mainly because he wasn’t too sure either. They flew over Hogsmeade, and Harry felt Malfoy lean a little to the side, so he could peer at the small town below them. They flew for a few more minutes before they came to a cliffs edge, next to the ocean, where Buckbeak landed. The two boys got off, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh at Malfoy’s dishevelled hair from the wind.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair _quite_ like that before, Malfoy.” Harry said, still laughing.

“Yeah, rich coming from you, Potter. Your hair is in such a constant state of disarray, this flight might have even improved it.” Malfoy spat back, his hand running through his own hair trying to tame it, but the serious composure didn’t last long before a half smile broke through on his lips. Buckbeak had taken off again, diving down towards the ocean. “Where is he going? _Hey come back here_!” Malfoy yelled, running towards the edge of the cliff. They watched as Buckbeak dived down and pulled up last second, his beak splashing in the water. Flying back up to the cliff, Buckbeak ate the fish he had caught, before flying back down towards the ocean. “Right, I see, his lunch is more important than taking up back to Hogwarts.” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.

“I think it’s closer to dinner than lunch Malfoy.” Harry said, looking out on the sky where the sun was slowly making its way down to the horizon. Malfoy looked out too, then sighed and sat down on the grass, his legs hanging over the edge of the cliff. Harry felt a spike of fear in his chest, worried for a moment that Malfoy was going to throw himself over the edge. Harry sat down next to him.

They sat in silence for a while, watching as the sky began to change colours, how the clouds deepened and highlighted the sky at the same time. It was quite chilly, the adrenalin from the flight had worn off and Harry found himself shivering.

“Honestly, it’s like you don’t know how to do magic.” Malfoy muttered as he cast a warming charm over the two of them.

“Thanks.” Harry said. Buckbeak had finished feeding, and had settled himself behind the two of them, but neither made a move to get back on his back and go back to Hogwarts. Instead they leant against Buckbeak’s warm body and watched as the sky changed from oranges and reds to pinks, purples, and dark blues.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive.” Malfoy said in a quiet, unexpected way, staring out onto the dark ocean. “Flying always made me feel free and alive. I haven’t flown since you saved me from the Room of Requirement.” Malfoy admitted sadly. Harry looked over to Malfoy, but he was still looking out over the ocean. “Of course, it had been much longer than that. But since that day I had been too afraid. It brought back too many memories.” Harry didn’t really know what to say, but as he thought about it, he realised something himself.

“Me neither.” He said quietly. Malfoy looked over to Harry with raised eyebrows. Harry shrugged, “yeah, I never really thought about it until you brought it up just then. Ron always asks for me to go to the quidditch pitch for a fly with the team, but I never go. I never wanted to.” Harry frowned and looked down at his hands. “I haven’t flown in a long time.” He continued.

He saw Malfoy nod in his peripheral vision, but didn’t push for anything else. They just sat there for a little while longer, until the sky lost it’s colour, and the stars began to grow more visible.

“We should probably head back.” Harry said eventually, straightening his back reluctantly.

“Yeah, I guess. Granger and the Weasel must be losing their minds wondering where you’ve gone off to. They probably think I’ve done Merlin knows what.” Harry frowned, the thought of Hermione and Ron hadn’t even entered his mind, but now that he thought about it, they had been gone for hours.

“Come on,” Harry said, offering his hand to help Malfoy up. Buckbeak raised with them, and after stretching his wings, they climbed on and flew off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :)
> 
> So, I've been doing a lot of thinking about my plan for this story, and I wanted to ask your opinion, would you guys be interested or object to the idea of around half way through this story changing the POV to Draco? It will still be written in third person, but just to get a different side to the story. Please let me know what you think!!


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